


Cinnamon

by LittleAprilFlowers



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleAprilFlowers/pseuds/LittleAprilFlowers
Summary: Simon and Baz explore the festive market on London’s south bank, unknowingly both seeking the perfect Christmas present for the other.“Simon’s face must ache from the amount of times it keeps stretching into the most ludicrous, goofy, beautiful grin I’ve ever seen. It isn’t the first time I’ve been compelled to kiss it off his sweet pink lips, and I sincerely doubt it will be the last, but for now I keep to myself and settle into the compromise of his gloved hand in mine.”Featured at the end is a gorgeous piece that accompanied my writing in the zine by the lovely Jeska - also known as penpanoly on Tumblr, so please check out her blog! I don't know how links work here.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: Let It Snow Zine





	Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Let It Snow 2020 fan zine for Rainbow Rowell’s Carry On series! So glad I can finally post this as I’ve been keen to share it for a while.

**SIMON**

I’m still not sure if Baz actually likes Christmas. He doesn’t care much about the drop in temperature, even less so now he has me to snuggle up to, he says (which is nice). Material things like presents never seem to be something he needs. On the flip side, he spoils me rotten; watching me grow up in the system while madly in love with me did a number on his compassion, because I get brilliant stuff which I wouldn’t even think to ask for (which is also nice).

This year though, I want to make it up to him, and buy him something that will knock his ridiculously expensive socks off. So we’re hitting the Christmas market in Southbank, in full view of the Thames. If anywhere has the best present for him, Penny reckons it might be there, among the craft stalls and twinkling lights of London. And any excuse to get out of the flat with him and live out something a little more romantic that our usual nights in is good enough for me.

**BAZ**

Simon’s face must ache from the amount of times it keeps stretching into the most ludicrous, goofy, _beautiful_ grin I’ve ever seen. It isn’t the first time I’ve been compelled to kiss it off his sweet pink lips, and I sincerely doubt it will be the last, but for now I keep to myself and settle into the compromise of his gloved hand in mine. A mere few years ago I would have laughed at the suggestion of even having this, desperate little creature that I was. 

We’re doing better than we have in the past. After defeating the Mage, then cutting a messy pathway across America which nearly killed us, and then saving our old school from certain destruction, I finally plucked up the courage to tell Simon that I love him. There are still a few hurdles on occasion, some things holding him back. But he tells me that he loves me too. And I’m so deliriously happy about it I cannot help but wonder if this isn’t some wicked dream, and I’ll wake up sad and alone in my bed in Mummers, wondering why I can smell cinnamon on the breeze.

Because I can. It’s overwhelming. My mouth waters at the sweet spice clinging to the wintry chill rolling off the river. It reminds me of Snow—as anything that smells so delicious often does—and it doesn’t surprise me when his face lights up again at the sight of the churros stall it wafts from.

“Can we?” he pleads, with all the wide-eyed wonder of a street urchin in a Victorian sweet shop. When his freckled face already looks so perfectly sprinkled in a warm colour akin to cinnamon itself, I lack any willpower to deny him, and make no argument other than to laugh and steer him towards the heady scent of seasonal sugar. 

“Alright. But you’d better eat your dinner when we get home,” I insist, privately thrilling at that last word.

_Home._ With none other than Simon Snow. 

**SIMON**

I bloody love churros. Granted, I haven’t had them before tonight. Now I’m three deep into a bag of a dozen or so of them, and Baz is deliberately hogging the little dipping pot of chocolate sauce they came with to wind me up, but I don’t care because they’re so good on their own that I might actually cry. 

“You’ve got sugar on your lip,” Baz points out. I try not to notice how his eyes linger on the dart of my tongue as I swipe it away; how what I meant as a careless and quick clean up becomes something else in less than a second.

“Better?” I ask him, hiding the smile I want to flash as best I can. It’s a bit satisfying, if I’m honest, now I know he’s looking. I _want_ him to look at me like that. It might have weirded me out before, but with a little therapy and a lot of patience, I’m growing to appreciate it.

Definitely don’t feel cold anymore, at the very least.

Baz nods, and does an awful impression of someone being very put together. I laugh—because this is silly and he’s gorgeous and I can’t help myself—and it has him scowling at me the same way he used to, back when we were mortal enemies bent on making each other’s lives hell and not boyfriends.

Something else I’m getting more and more used to, that word. It suits us.

“Come on,” I tell him, tugging his hand gripped in mine. “Lots more for us to see.”

**BAZ**

Enthusiastic as I might have been to explore the festive market with Simon—and not without ulterior motive—I am finding it incredibly difficult to shift my gaze to any of the trinkets on offer. Snow is practically glowing. His wings are tucked away with magic and the help of a very large winter coat, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t think he’s been this carefree in forever.

Crowley, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

And of course, I need him to understand that I feel this way about him. Even with the extensive vocabulary I possess, I’m not sure I have the words to describe just how he makes me want to set myself alight on a daily basis; in all the good ways, mind you, if there is such a thing. Attempted self immolation was the catalyst to our first kiss, after all.

I finally spot the vendor I have been searching for as we round one of the last rows of the market, with Simon thankfully distracted by the dregs of mulled cider he’s currently finishing off. Thank all the poets for the tenacity of local crafters thriving in the big city. The woman I’ve sought out sells charming glass blown ornaments of all different shapes and sizes. All I have to do is steal a moment with her while Simon is sufficiently elsewhere, place my order, and—

He is staring at the stall. And he’s _frowning_. That’s… not ideal.

**SIMON**

Truth be told, I was starting to get a bit frustrated. A whole Christmas market and there had not been a single thing which stood out enough to be worthy of Baz. I desperately want to get him something special. 

But now I think I’ve found it.

The stand is covered in glass and glitter. The temporary wooden shelves are lined with angels, presents, reindeer, robins; every symbol of the holidays that you could think of made in flawless glass. The sign above the woman running the stall said they could put custom messages on the blank pieces as well.

Turns out I can be an absolute genius when the moment strikes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to give Fiona a ring tonight?” I ask suddenly, tearing my eyes from the baubles, in a way which I know is none too subtle. Never has been my strongest skill.

Baz nods, but he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. I don’t imagine it’s because he feels hungry, as I can’t see his fangs. He’s frowning all the same. His whole mood has shifted into something nervous, and that old familiar worry starts to roll around in my gut.

“Later, Snow,” he says dismissively, and then glances down at his phone as it buzzes conveniently in his hand. For a moment I wonder if the universe has fallen perfectly into place. Would be nice, for a change.

But then Baz looks up from the glow of the screen to frown even deeper at me, and my stomach sinks so low it feels as if it’s landed heavily on my boots.

“There’s been a weather alert sent out. A heavy storm is due to hit London in the next few hours. Maybe you should go back to the main road, see if you can get us a cab? We should start making our way home,” he suggests. 

Just my luck. After an evening spent roaming happily, tempted with free samples and by every moment a smile tugged at the corner of Baz’s perfect mouth, it fell apart at my feet at the last second.

There’s an email address on the sign though, with the words about detailing. Even with my memory being what it is, I cling to it in my head as best I can anyway, and then nod to Baz to do as he’s asked.

Not this time, you bastard universe.

**BAZ**

I hadn’t expected that to work. Simon hesitates for only a moment before doing what I told him, turning on his heel and disappearing into the thinning crowds of the market to find a lift back to the flat. I steal every bit of time I have left, darting forward the moment he disappears out of sight to explain what I want to the craftswoman at the stand.

Her smile shifts from professionally patient to genuinely delighted within a matter of seconds as I make my order, and she assures me it can be delivered discreetly well in time for a Christmas gift. The relief must be tangible on my face because she pats me on the back of the hand before I go, assuring me that Simon will love it.

Despite whatever nervous doubt I might have had left, I believe her.

***

**SIMON**

Waking up with Baz on Christmas Day was perfect. We had a lie in, then eventually got up and cobbled breakfast together. We opened presents from each other and our friends; a woolen scarf in navy blue from Agatha (with memories of old Christmases) that Baz said brings out my eyes, a new controller from Penny (my other one has seen the wars from hours of gaming), and a goodie box of proper American sweets and beef jerky from Shepard that I cannot wait to dive into. Baz bought me a new stand mixer to bake what I’ve learned from work with some cookbooks I wanted, and an aftershave set that probably cost more than I make in a week. In turn he seemed pleased with the new coat Penny helped me choose for him; sleek and slim and dark, matching everything about him, made by a label I wouldn’t have dared to even touch back in my Watford days.

One present left.

I see my chance when Baz comes back from the bedroom after calling his family to send him their love—I didn’t mind too much about being left out of that conversation, though I know he was a bit gutted that he wouldn’t see them on the big day this year. Hopefully I can—

Hold on. He’s holding the box.

**BAZ**

I glance up to see Simon pouting at me. Granted, it’s absolutely adorable, but not the reaction I was expecting to one last surprise gift.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, managing to smile.

“Where did you get that?” he demands, stepping towards the kitchen and disappearing through the door. I can just about make out distant sounds of rummaging until a huff echoes from the room, and then Simon reappears with—

The same box as me. Simple and black, wrapped in a silver ribbon.

“Oh,” I manage to say, and I’m moving towards him with my own offering. We meet in the middle, settling back on the sofa and exchanging our gifts with a quiet anticipation unlike any I have ever felt at Christmas. There is a moment where neither of us say anything, staring at the boxes in our hands.

Simon clears his throat. “Uhm. I’ll go first, shall I?”

“Yes. If you would.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment after that. I fear that he’ll damage it if he handles the box too roughly, as Simon has never had the most graceful hands save for when a sword is clutched in them, but then he lifts the lid away. And stares. And doesn’t say a word.

Simon lifts the decoration from the box, dark satin giving way to a star lined with golden glitter—because what other colour might I have selected that fits him so well as gold? Engraved on the star’s face is a easy to read but aesthetically pleasing font, with the words:

_I choose you._

His expression is indecipherable, and for a moment I feel like I’ve made a mistake. But then, curse him, he starts to laugh. It’s like the ringing of bells—fitting, really, given the season.

“Open yours,” he insists, still grinning, all pearly teeth and delightful mischief so tangible I cannot find it in me to be upset that he hasn’t said thank you. I do as he asks, my fingers making quick work of the unnervingly identical ribbon and bow.

It’s a star. Made of glass. Just like mine. Only this one is lined with silver glitter, and there are different words etched into its surface.

_I love you._

Somehow even after hearing it so many times from him, just seeing the words laid out for me as Simon’s hands reach for mine….

“Do you like it?” he asks, as if it were ever possible for me to say no. I find once again he has reduced me to wordlessness, and reply instead with a kiss as insistent as any I’ve ever given him.

When I draw back, my eyes glazed with tears, Simon laughs once more. But this time the sound is soft and sweet, as is the calloused hand that cups my jaw as his gaze bores into my own.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” he murmurs, and I kiss him again, certain this is the best way to spend Christmas; in the arms of the man I love, with a new year and a bright future undoubtedly ahead.


End file.
